Silent Son

by Gallatin Warfield

  It was 10:00 A.M. and the prosecution team was conferencing in the library of the State’s Attorney’s office. Gardner presided at the blackboard in shirt sleeves. There were dark purple circles under his eyes.

  Jennifer and Brownie sat at the large oak table in the center of the room. She looked tired also, but her glasses screened the redness under her eyelids. Only Brownie looked fresh. In a crisp dark blue uniform, he was alert and restless. They had a lot of ground to cover, and he was anxious to get to it.

  “Have you read my reports?” Brownie asked, assembling a stack of police files in front of him.

  Gardner picked up a piece of chalk. “Everything you’ve submitted so far.” He turned to the blackboard and wrote the name MILLER on the left side, at the top.

  “What do you think?” Brownie continued.

  Gardner walked to the other side of the board and wrote STARKE. “What am I supposed to think?” Gardner said wearily. “You’ve got a lot of facts, but they don’t fit together…”

  Brownie could sense the frustration in Gardner’s voice. The detective had worked the case to the core, and only stirred up unconnected pieces.

  “I have to admit I was wrong about the botched robbery theory,” Gardner went on. “There’s no question in my mind now that this thing revolves around money. Big money.” He moved to the center of the blackboard and wrote ADDIE BOWERS, HENRY BOWERS, and PURVIS BOWERS at the top. Then he drew a line and wrote MONEY underneath. “This thing was triggered by greed. Somebody had it. Somebody wanted it. And somebody took it. It’s that simple.”

  Jennifer smiled. Gardner was fashioning his theme. To him, every case had a theme. And that produced a plot to lay before the jury like the story line in a thriller. Jurors needed to know that events happened as the result of some master plan. If you never told them the why behind the evidence, they got confused. And jury confusion was tantamount to reasonable doubt.

  “So we need to know those facts,” Gardner reiterated. “Who had it? Who wanted it? And who took it?”

  “Number one is simple,” Brownie said. “Henry Bowers. He had it in the safe deposit boxes.”

  Gardner nodded and wrote DEPOSIT BOXES under Henry’s name.

  “And then it went to Purvis after Henry died,” Jennifer added.

  Gardner drew a line from the word BOXES to the space under Purvis Bowers’ name. “Okay. Where do I go from here?” Gardner said, his chalk poised. He looked at Brownie.

  The detective shrugged. “Don’t know yet,” he said softly.

  “It would be nice if I could get from here to here” Gardner said suddenly, dragging the chalk over to the MILLER side. “Or here.” He wrote the name KING beside MILLER. The prosecutor looked at Brownie again. “I have to know where the money went if we’re gonna prove a plot.”

  “I’m working on it,” Brownie answered. “But you’ve got to remember that we’ve never actually put any money in the boxes in the first place. We just assumed it was there…”

  Brownie made a note on his pad. That aspect of the case had dogged him from the beginning. Henry having big money did not make sense. He lived poor his whole life. But he sure as hell kept something in the boxes. And it was valuable enough to kill for.

  “So we track down the money and it doesn’t lead to Miller,” Jennifer piped up. “What then?”

  Gardner turned. “It will lead to him. Or someone near him. Why else would he kill three people?”

  The room went silent as the team pondered that question.

  “Okay,” Gardner finally said. “Now that we know what we can’t prove, let’s take a look at what we can.” He turned back to the board and drew a line that connected MILLER and STARKE. “We can put these two together at the school prior to the first murder.” He wrote RALPH LAMBERT under MILLER and in parentheses WORK CREW. “We can put them together on the day of the murders, near the scene of the crime.”

  Under MILLER he wrote J. DOREY and in parentheses RED TRUCK. Then he wrote J. DOREY under STARKE and next to the name: ID. “What else do we have?” Gardner looked at Brownie, then at Jennifer.

  “The tattoo,” Brownie barked. “Identification of Roscoe’s tattoo.”

  Gardner’s eyes saddened as the words were spoken. He winced and wrote GRANVILLE in giant letters in the center of the board. Then he drew a line to MILLER and wrote TATTOO ID underneath.

  “What else?” Gardner said, backing away from the board.

  Again, there was silence in the room. No other evidence came to mind. There had been no confessions. No accusations by one defendant against the other. No murder weapon. No forensics at the crime scene except the dragging foot marks that had alerted Brownie to Roscoe in the first place.

  “The shell at Purvis’s,” Brownie answered, “had Roscoe’s print on it…”

  “A partial,” Gardner said. “It won’t get to the jury.”

  “What about the shell they put in the mailbox?” Jennifer asked. “It was the same kind that killed Purvis.”

  Gardner laid down his chalk. “It was clean. Right, Brownie?”

  The detective nodded.

  “We may be able to get it into evidence, but it still doesn’t prove a thing. We have to tie it to one of these two, and we can’t thus far.”

  Gardner stared at the board. This was it. Their whole case. A tenuous, speculative, circumstantial conglomeration of nothing. They’d hoped to turn Starke against Miller and learn some answers, but he’d clammed up. And Roscoe had been uncooperative from the beginning.

  Gardner picked up his chalk again and walked to the right side of the board. Without saying anything he wrote in a vertical column:

  SCHOOL

  WEAPON

  MONEY

  MOTIVE

  “Better add ‘phone call,’” Brownie said to his back.

  “Huh?” Gardner asked.

  “If you’re listing the blanks we gotta fill,” Brownie replied, “add in the phone call that Henry made to Starke. That’s as much of a question mark as the others.”

  Gardner mumbled okay and added it to the list. Then he backed off and studied it.

  “What about ‘shooter’?” Jennifer asked suddenly. The assumption from day one had been that Roscoe had been the shooter and Starke had been the tagalong. But now they had the look-alike issue to deal with. And the paste-on tattoos in IV’s safe now made Granville’s drawings suspect. It was possible, but not probable, that Starke pulled the trigger.

  Gardner nodded and wrote SHOOTER on the board.

  The room fell silent again as they contemplated the list, until slowly all eyes came to rest on the name in the middle.

  GRANVILLE

  Gardner turned and crossed his arms. “We have to use him,” he said sadly. “Have to, or we’ve got no case.”

  Jennifer and Brownie glanced at the board, then turned to Gardner. They could see it. As clearly as the chalk lines against the black slate. Without Granville, they had nothing. Even if Brownie filled in the other blanks it was not going to be enough.

  Gardner pulled a sheet of paper out of his case file and shot it across the table. “This went out this afternoon.”

  Jennifer gasped when she saw the material witness summons for Granville. Gardner had not told her about it.

  “Gard,” she whispered. “Are you sure about this?”

  Brownie leaned over her shoulder and read the document. This was a major development. “Taking your own son into custody…” he said in a low voice. “Man…”

  “I’ve given it a lot of thought,” Gardner said gravely, “and it has to be done.”

  Brownie and Jennifer looked at each other with alarm. “Can’t you reason with Carole?” Brownie asked. “Get her to cooperate?”

  Gardner shook his head no.

  “Maybe we can find what we need so we won’t have to use him,” Jennifer suggested.

  Gardner shook his head again. “I don’t think so. If we haven’t found it by now, we’re not going to. Face it, Gran-ville’s the only hop
e…”

  “But bringing him in on a warrant…” Jennifer persisted.

  “There’s no other way,” Gardner said sadly. “God, I wish there was, but I know Carole. She’s not going to let me near him.”

  Brownie stood up. “Please, Gard, don’t do it. Recall the damn summons. I’ll fill the blanks. Just give me some more time…”

  “No,” Gardner said. “It’s too late.”

  Brownie gathered his things and prepared to leave. “I’m gonna get what you need. I swear…” Then he left the room, shaking his head.

  After Brownie left, Jennifer approached Gardner. “You know it’s not worth it,” she said softly.

  Gardner eyed her sullenly.

  “Nothing’s worth putting your own family through hell.”

  “Family,” Gardner said. “That includes you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve got to do it, Jen. Got to…”

  “No you don’t,” Jennifer replied, putting her arms around him. Then she clamped his face against her chest and stifled his words.

  At 10:00 P.M. that evening Gardner and Jennifer were in bed. He was asleep, and she had nothing to do but sit beside him and stare at his back. Jennifer’s knees were pulled up, and a novel rested on her sheet-covered thighs. She was at page five, where she’d been for the past half hour.

  The summons was on its way. As they lay there, an unmarked sheriff’s car was en route to Baltimore to pick up Granville. Suddenly, the phone rang. Jennifer answered before it could disturb Gardner.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Brownie. Gard there?” He sounded excited.

  “Sleeping. What’s up?”

  “Gotta talk to him…”

  Jennifer nudged Gardner awake and handed him the phone.

  “Huh?” he said groggily into the mouthpiece, then, “What!” He sat upright in the bed. “No! Goddamn it! No!”

  Gardner said good-bye and slammed down the phone. His face was ashen.

  “What is it?” Jennifer’s voice was trembling.

  “They’re out,” Gardner said gravely. “Both of them. Starke posted bond this afternoon and Miller tonight.” He looked at Jennifer with fear in his eyes. “We knew Starke could do it, but not Roscoe too. Shit! Somehow he came up with the money!”

  Granville would be in the county by morning. And both suspected killers were back on the street.

  fourteen

  Gardner was bleary-eyed when he opened the door to his town house at 6:30 A.M. and greeted Deputy Sheriff Perry Pike. His sleep had been fitful after the phone call last night, as his mind wound through twisted scenes of pursuit and terror.

  “What happened?” Gardner asked. Pike was the deputy he’d chosen to serve the witness summons on Granville. A huge man, with a wide friendly face, he looked like a panda. He had three kids of his own, one of whom was in Granville’s class at school. That made him perfect for the job.

  “It was bad, man,” Pike said with a grimace. “Your ex-wife went bonkers…”

  Gardner’s heart leaped as he looked past the deputy toward his car. Maybe he’d failed, and left the boy in Baltimore.

  “Don’t worry,” Pike said. “I got him, but it wasn’t easy.”

  Gardner ran to the vehicle and looked inside. Granville was curled on the back seat, asleep. His knees were pulled up, his body turned at an awkward angle against the seatbelt.

  “She went nuts when I showed her the summons,” Pike continued. “Called the city cops. Threatened me. Threatened you. Got the boy upset.”

  Gardner looked at his son’s face. It wasn’t smooth and relaxed, the way an eight-year-old’s should be. There were tension lines on his forehead, and dirty streaks below his eyes.

  Gardner’s stomach began to throb. He had been warned. “What did you tell him?” he asked.

  “Said Dad asked me to pick him up,” Pike replied.

  Gardner glanced back at his son. He’d shifted into another contortion, but he was still asleep. “What’d he say?” Gardner asked.

  “He asked where you were,” the deputy replied. “Refused to come with me.”

  Gardner put his hand over his eyes. “How’d you get him in the car?”

  “Had to carry him,” Pike answered. “Mom was screaming, he was crying. Struggled a little…”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Finally got him calmed down,” Pike continued. “Got him talking about school and stuff. He was pretty okay after that…”

  Gardner opened the car door and reached in to unbuckle the seatbelt. Granville stirred when the metal clasp clicked. Then he opened his eyes.

  “Hi, Gran,” Gardner said.

  Sleep still ruled, and Granville had to blink a few times to get his bearings.

  Gardner reached in and scooped him up like a baby.

  “Dad!” he yelled. “Dad!” His eyes filled with tears and he began to squirm.

  Gardner set him on the ground. “Gran,” he said again.

  Deputy Pike cleared his throat and motioned to Gardner that he had to leave, so Gardner moved his son away from the car and allowed it to back out of the parking space.

  Then Gardner put his arms out. It was the hug signal, the sign that Granville always reacted to instantly. But the boy gave his father a petulant look and stood his ground.

  Gardner kept his arms open, then lowered them slowly. “Not going to give me a hug?” His voice quavered.

  Granville shook his head no.

  “Why not?”

  The boy lowered his eyes. “Don’t want to.”

  Gardner took Granville’s arm and led him inside. “Let’s get some breakfast.” Maybe food could break the ice.

  They entered the kitchen, and Gardner took a wax carton from the refrigerator and filled a glass. “How about some milk?”

  Granville again shook his head no.

  Gardner’s temper flared, but he held it in. He picked up Granville and placed him in a chair at the kitchen table. Then he sat down on the other side.

  “Gran, we have to have a talk,” he said softly.

  The boy eyed him sullenly, but remained silent.

  “I’m sure you’re confused about what happened last night.”

  Granville did not answer.

  “You know that Dad puts bad people in jail,” Gardner continued. “You know that it’s my job. When someone hurts another person, I take the bad person to court and put him in jail.”

  Granville stared blankly while his father talked.

  “I want you to be a witness in court,” Gardner said.

  Granville’s face paled.

  “I want you to help me put some very bad people in jail.”

  Tears were beginning to form in the boy’s eyes.

  “The people who killed Addie and Henry are going to court soon, and I need your help.”

  Granville began to shake his head violently from side to side.

  “Gran!” Gardner reached across the table and grabbed his son’s shoulder. “Listen to me!” His voice was loud. “It hurts! I know! But we have to do it! You and me! Together!”

  “But Mom…” Granville blubbered.

  “Mom doesn’t want you to, I know! But Mom just doesn’t understand! That’s why the sheriff went to get you. So you could come back here and help Dad. I need you, Gran! I need you to help me!”

  Gardner walked to the other side of the table. Permission or not, he was going to hug his child.

  There was another cold response, then the boy went passive and allowed his father to hold him. Gardner fought back his own tears as he clutched Granville like a rag doll in his arms.

  Gardner held tight and closed his eyes. Granville could do it. He was certain. Together, they’d solve the case and end the nightmare.

  “Want to play some ball later?” Gardner finally asked.

  Granville stirred and looked up. “When?” His voice was weak.

  “After breakfast,” Gardner said, standing and grabbing a box of cereal. “Right after breakfast.” He poured
some com flakes into a bowl and set it on the table.

  Granville slowly picked up his spoon. “Can I hit a few?” he asked.

  Brownie’s shift did not begin until 10:00 A.M., but he was already at the lab by 7:00, well into his tasks for the day. MILLER and MONEY topped his note pad, and beneath those words a list of items he still had to check out. The first item was “teletype.” He’d put out an alert on Roscoe to local police departments weeks ago but received no response. Last night he’d decided to extend the range of his search. He’d faxed a photo of Roscoe with a description of his truck to all the surrounding states. Roscoe was not only a loner, he was a wanderer. Maybe he had dropped a clue across the border.

  The teletype beeped to signify an incoming message. Brownie walked over and watched the paper slide up as the type keys jittered out the words. Another beep signified that the transmission was complete. Brownie ripped out the paper and laid it on his table. TO SGT JOE BROWN, COUNTY POLICE, it read. FROM LT DARRELL AVIS, WEST VIRGINIA STATE POLICE. The message followed.

  ROSCOE (NMN) MILLER WAS ARRESTED OUR JURISDICTION ON JUNE 15 OF THIS YEAR AND CHARGED WITH ASSAULT. INSPECTION OF HIS PERSONAL BELONGINGS REVEALED HE WAS CARRYING $8000.00 U.S. CURRENCY.

  Brownie blinked and reread the last three words. “Eight thousand dollars U.S. currency,” he said aloud. He adjusted the paper and read on: THE ASSAULT WAS PERPETRATED AGAINST A LOCAL MINER IN THE DRIVE INN BAR ON THE EVENING OF JUNE 14. BOND WAS SET AT $5000.00. ON THE 15TH, MILLER POSTED BOND IN THAT AMOUNT, AND WAS RELEASED. A TRIAL DATE WAS SET, BUT THE CHARGES WERE LATER DROPPED BY THE COMPLAINANT. AN ATTEMPT WAS MADE TO NOTIFY MILLER AT THE ADDRESS GIVEN, BUT THE LETTER WAS RETURNED. THE BOND MONEY IS STILL BEING HELD BY THE COURT. END OF MESSAGE.

  Brownie flicked the corner of the paper with his finger. A connection! Roscoe had a pocketful of cash within weeks of the murder. He imagined Gardner’s face lighting up when he heard the news.

  Brownie dialed the number for the West Virginia State Police. When it answered, he asked for Lieutenant Avis.

  “Avis.” The man’s voice was rough, like he’d been screaming at criminals all his life.

  “Sergeant Brown, county police, Maryland. Sent you that teletype on Miller.”